The Rajah turn’d toward the pile again,

Loud rose the song of death from all the crowd;

Their din the instruments begin,

And once again join in

With overwhelming sound.

Ladurlad starts, . . . he looks around.

What hast thou here in view,

O wretched man, in this disastrous scene?

The soldier train, the Bramins who renew

Their ministry around the funeral pyre,

The empty palankeens,

The dimly-fading fire.

Where too is she whom most his heart held dear,

His best-beloved Kailyal, where is she,

The solace and the joy of many a year

Of widowhood! is she then gone,

And is he left all-utterly alone,

To bear his blasting curse, and none

To succour or deplore him?

He staggers from the dreadful spot; the throng

Give way in fear before him;

Like one who carries pestilence about,

Shuddering they shun him, where he moves along.

And now he wanders on

Beyond the noisy rout;

He cannot fly and leave his curse behind,

Yet doth he seem to find

A comfort in the change of circumstance.

Adown the shore he strays,

Unknowing where his wretched feet may rest,

But farthest from the fatal place is best.